The Great Mouse Detective: Something Wicked in 221B Baker Street
by Narwhals Forever
Summary: An unexpected visitor and an equally unexpected Christmas present appear on Basil's doorstep. They bring with them a case involving assassination attempts, espionage, high treason, and the ever-looming threat of war- a case far too interesting for Basil to ignore. Takes place right after "The Heart Diamond Mystery."
1. Chapter 1

Hello my fabulous readers!

This is an immediate sequel to "The Heart Diamond Mystery," picking up right where the last one left off. I hope you enjoy it!

I don't own any of this Great Mouse Detective stuff, that right belongs to Eve Titus and the Walt Disney Company.

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><p>When Basil, Relda, and Dawson arrived home, Mrs. Judson had been waiting anxiously at the door for over an hour, wringing her apron mercilessly until the poor apron had become almost threadbare beneath her fingers.<p>

"Ooh, what's happened? Are you all alright? What's been going on?" Mrs. Judson asked nervously, flitting around the three tired mice like an overexcited butterfly.

"It's quite a long story," Dawson sighed tiredly, plopping into his chair in exhaustion.

Mrs. Judson continued to lok expectantly at them.

"Well, you see, Mrs. Judson," Basil cut in smoothly, eager to recount the events of the night, "this is how it all played out…"

As Basil animatedly relived the tale for Dawson and Mrs. Judson, Relda slipped unseen behind them and sank into Basil's fluffy red armchair. My GOD, was it soft. She had grown rather fond of it, actually.

The fire was quite warm, and Relda felt herself growing drowsy. Through rapidly heavying eyes, she watched contentedly as Basil swung around the room, demonstrating the exact way everything happened in the story. It was kind of endearing, she thought briefly, how excited he sometimes got about things.

"And then Toby burst in, howling and generally making a ruckus, and after that the police flooded in, arresting all these goons and…and Ratigan…" Basil's tone dropped, his eyes shifting to the ground. "He…he slipped away again."

Mrs. Judson gasped. "Again? What do you mean, again? He can't still be out there, Basil!"

"He is," Basil said mournfully. "And I suppose we'll have to wait until he does another truly terrible thing before we are able to find him. And it doesn't make any sense!" Basil's tone changed to an angrier, harsher sound. "Where could he have gone? I saw him, that slimy piece of filth known as Padriac Ratigan was unconscious and lying helpless on the floor. How could he have gotten away, and under the officer's noses, too! How is that even possible?"

"Now, now, dear," Mrs. Judson tried to soothe him, "You're getting a bit overexcited. It might be better if you just sit down, relax. Here, have a crumpet."

"I don't want a crumpet," he pushed her hand away. "I want to see Ratigan behind bars. As he should be."

Basil went over and tried to sit down in his fluffy red chair with a dramatic "hmph!" like he usually did when pouting. Unfortunately, he did not realize that his chair was already occupied with a lightly snoozing lady.

"Oof!" Relda cried out. Basil leapt up in surprise.

"Excuse me," he apologized, "I didn't mean to-"

"It's all right," Relda said, hastily (but rather reluctantly) leaving the comfiness of the fluffy red armchair. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, I…I forgot myself for a moment."

"Oh, you poor dear," Mrs. Judson said, taking Relda's hand in her own sympathetically. "You must be exhausted. All of you must be," she said, gesturing to the three indeed weary mice in the parlor. "You should all go and get some rest."

"Gladly," Dawson muttered from his spot in his chair, clearly only a few minutes from falling asleep.

"Oh, thank you for the hospitality, but-"Relda began, about to explain that it wasn't necessary to keep her here, that she'd gladly go to a hotel or something, but Basil interrupted.

"Nonsense, nonsense, you can stay here," Basil assured her. "You can stay in my room."

Dawson's eyelids snapped open at the suggestion of such impropriety. "Basil!" He cried, shocked.

Basil realized his words and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Not with ME in it!" He said, annoyed. "I'll sleep in the parlor."

Mrs. Judson and Dawson calmed down slightly, and Relda smirked. Goodness, you two, she thought. So untrusting. And suspicious. Suspicious of what, I wonder?

"Thank you Basil, that's very generous of you," Relda thanked politely.

Basil bowed courteously.

Basil's room, Relda realized, was a perfect reflection of Basil's personality. Even better so than his mantel. Cluttered in the strangest assortment of objects imaginable (_Are those…never mind_, thought Relda as she passed a jar of unidentifiable floating objects, _I don't want to know_), Basil's room was untidy yet remarkably wonderful at the same time. The bed was hardly even visible under the piles of things that Relda didn't even know existed. Everywhere, mementos from all over the world and maps of foreign countries, everything exotic and beautiful even in its jumbled, disorganized state. Oh, and the typical shrine to himself was in the corner, a framed and immaculately tidy collection of various medals and newspaper clippings about himself. It was, however, not very large, and easily eclipsed by the large and almost manically eccentric collection of oddities.

"Is it what you expected?" Asked Basil uneasily as she stood in the center of the room, analyzing everything. Criticizing, he thought fleetingly, worriedly.

"Actually, it is…exactly what I expected," Relda said. "It's a good thing," she added, seeing Basil's alarmed expression.

"It is a bit of a mess, isn't it," Basil apologized. Odd. He usually didn't apologize for things as trivial as untidy rooms. Usually he just accepted what people thought about him and moved on to more important things, like cases. Basil walked over and carefully picked up a few items from the bed, trying to smooth the covers as best he could.

"What is that?" Relda asked, pointing at one of the objects Basil had picked up.

"This?" He glanced at it. "Oh, this. It is a tribal mask, from Africa. It was made by a native of the Punu tribe," he said, holding up the mask so Relda could see it better. Relda's nimble fingers gently curved around the mask's edges, picking it up and holding it closer. The mask was meant to look like a woman, Relda guessed, from the way it was carved.

"It is meant to represent feminine beauty," Basil explained, gently tracing the features of the mask with his fingers. "See the almond-shaped eyes, the curled eyelashes, and the narrow chin? They are all features associated with the ideal woman. At least, in Punu culture."

"Fascinating," Relda breathed. She turned the mask over and held it up to her face. Basil snorted. The mask made her head appear at least five sizes too big, like a living caricature.

"Not for me, huh? Oh well," Relda took off the mask and handed it back to him.

"It's a bit of a good thing, too," Basil said. "These masks are usually reserved for the males of the tribe."

Relda raised an eyebrow. "What?" She asked, confused. "Why? How does that make any sense?"

Basil shrugged. "It's just the way it is," he waved his hand.

One couldn't argue with that. Relda shrugged. "Fair enough." She plopped down on the side of the bed. Her eyes studied his face, and she cocked her had slightly. "You're still worried about Ratigan," she stated.

Basil stiffened. "Er-yes."

"You know, I would say that it's going to be alright, but I can't promise that. Noone can." Relda said bluntly.

Basil swallowed thickly.

A softer edge to her voice came through when she added, "but I know that whatever happens, you'll find a way to get through it."

It was the same sort of vague yet empowering moral support that Basil thrived on, and he took it in readily. "Thank you, Relda," he said, grinning at her.

She smiled back at him, but only for a moment. Her grin evaporated rather quickly as she glanced at the door. "Are they…" she whispered, "are they listening to what we're saying?"

Basil looked over at the door. The light from the hallway that was peeking through the crack under the door was cut apart by two shadows.

"I believe they are," Basil whispered back. He looked back at Relda, who was giggling. She stopped long enough to say rather loudly than normal,

"Well, Mr. Basil, thank you very much for your fascinating tou of your room. Now, if you excuse me, I think I shall retire." She gave him a wink, followed by a barely audible, "You'd better go."

"Yes. Uh, You're welcome." Basil hastily set down some of his assorted items and quickly turned to open the door. The eavesdroppers scurried out of sight just as Basil opened the door. "Good night, Relda."

"Same to you, Basil," she replied casually as he left.

Basil walked down the hall and through the kitchen into the parlor, where Mrs. Judson and Dawson were sitting innocently in their chairs.

"Ah, Basil. What do you think? Will she be quite comfortable?" Dawson asked.

"She'll be fine, I'm sure." Basil said. His eyes narrowed at the two eavesdroppers. "She took a special interest in some of my collections."

"Really? I didn't know she found masks fascinating," Dawson said innocently.

Aha! Gotcha. "I never said anything about masks," Basil said, grinning at Dawson and Mrs. Judson's guilty expressions. He put his hands on his hips in mock sternness. "You didn't happen to be listening in on us, have you?"

"There's nothing wrong with a little extra monitoring once in a while," Mrs. Judson said casually, shaking off the guilty expression faster than Dawson. "Oh, and dear? If you really don't want people to be suspicious, you should leave the door open next time."

Basil stared at her as she left the parlor, speechless. She waved her hand dismissively at the two of them. "Goodnight, my good sirs." She said.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Judson," Dawson said cheerily. He looked at Basil questioningly. "Are you sure you'll be all right sleeping down here for the night?" he asked.

"I'll be fine, I've done it before." Basil said dismissively, snapping out of his shock and moving towards his comfy red chair. Dawson shrugged.

"Very well, Basil. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Dawson left the parlor, leaving Basil alone, staring into the dying embers of the fire on the hearth. With nothing to distract him, Basil's fine-tuned mind kicked into high gear. He fretted himself into a restless sleep, dreaming uneasy dreams about the return of Ratigan and an army of evil demonic thugs bent on destroying everything he held dear…

A doorbell rang.

Basil gasped, falling out of the armchair and groaning, clutching his head. "What…"

Dim streaks of light pierced the windowpanes. Early, early morning.

"What on Earth…" Basil grumbled angrily under his breath as he picked himself up and marched over to the door, prepared to yell at whomever had dared to disturb his sleep (however unpleasantly nightmarish it had been).

"What do you-" Basil began, before being cut short by shock.

On the doorstep sat an unconscious rat, tied up in ribbon with a large red bow flopped on his head. Standing beside the gift-wrapped Ratigan stood a mouse that looked a lot like Basil, albeit taller and with much darker, forest green eyes (and a small mustache). He leaned easily on the side of the slumbering rat, shoving a hand into the pocket of his smart-looking coat.

"Good morning, little brother." Edmund said cheerfully. "Consider this an early Christmas present."

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><p>Author's Note- Before you ask, yes, the Punu tribe is a real thing, and all of the details about the masks are true. And yes, I spend my time looking up African tribal masks in encyclopedias. In essence, I don't really have a life.<p>

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It might be a little while before I'm able to post the second one, so stay tuned.

Oh, and review if humanly possible.

Danke sehr!

Narwhals Forever


	2. Chapter 2

I am so sorry for the delay in posting chapters. As I have finals coming up and a lot of rehearsals for the show that I am in, updates will unortunately be sporadic. I promise I will do my best to post new chapters when I can.

Anyway, here's the second chapter. Feel free to review!

Enjoy! Wiedersehen!

Narwhals Forever

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><p>Edmund tapped his foot, annoyed. "Are you going to let us in or not, Basil?" He asked, annoyed. "It's actually rather cold out here."<p>

Basil was too busy gaping to hear. All he could see…all he could think about was Ratigan. Sitting. Right. Here. On. His. Doorstep.

Edmund rolled his eyes, making an irritated "tschk" noise. "Well?" He asked.

Basil came to his senses. "Edmund!" He cried. "How dare you bring that disgusting sewer rat here with you! Why is he not locked up where he belongs? Why are you-"

"Temper, Basil, temper," Edmund cut in smoothly. "Remember what mother always said about your temper. And remember what she also said about manners, Basil, particularly about leaving guests out on the doorstep in the cold."

Basil fumed. "You," he muttered through gritted teeth, "Are not a guest. And that criminal," he spat, pointing at Ratigan, "is most certainly not a guest either."

"Client then," Edmund remedied. "Now, if you excuse me." He bent down and began dragging Ratigan into the parlor, pushing Basil rather roughly to the side as he began dragging Ratigan into the parlor.

Basil considered throwing them both out, but Edmund had said he ws a client. Now, brother or no, enemy or no, his set of morals and rules prevented Basil from doing anything about it. One might think that it must be a set of peculiar morals indeed, but they were what they were, and Basil grudgingly let them in, slamming the door behind them (being sure to catch Ratigan's tail in the door).

"Tschk. Now really, Basil, was that necessary?" Edmund asked.

"Quite."

"Hm. Now then," Edmund straightened, brushing off his hands. "I suppose we should start off with a usual greeting. How have you been?"

Basil glared coldly at Edmund. "You are my client, not my guest. Kindly explain what you are doing here, Edmund, and why you have brought the most fiendish criminal in London, who tried to kill me scarcely _five hours ago_, to my doorstep."

Edmund looked stung, but only for a moment. He quickly replaced it with his usual cool gaze. "Alright then. Fine. I have come because I need you for something. Him too," he said, nudging Ratigan with his foot, "which is why I haven't turned him in to the police yet."

"Him?" Basil's eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you need?"

"Help. With a case," Edmund explained.

Basil rolled his eyes. "What_ kind_ of case?" he asked, irritated.

"A foreign affair," Edmund reached into his suit jacket pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of calligraphy paper. "A foreign threat, actually."

Basil's curiosity was stirred despite himself. He snatched the paper from Edmund and unfolded it, his emerald green eyes dancing over the paper.

He looked up at Edmund. "The crown jewels of England?" He glanced back down at the paper. "Or it's the life of the Queen, and-"

"And the prince and princess," Edmund completed, "the Queen's grandchildren, who are currently visiting."

Basil squinted. He looked at the paper, inspecting it closely. He waved it in the air a couple of times, and rubbed it between his fingers. "Maldonian?" he asked inquisitively.

"Correct." Edmund said.

Basil's eyes traveled down to the unconscious criminal mastermind laying limp on the floor. Edmund shook his head.

"That's what I originally thought too, but he couldn't have. He was preoccupied at the time this letter was sent."

"When was it sent?"

"Yesterday morning." Edmund smiled a wan little smile. "The only reason we're taking this seriously is because… well. Turn it over."

Basil obeyed. His eyes widened at the sight of the map on the back. It was a map of Britain, albeit there were 'x's marked in odd spots along the shores and in the countryside.

"British troops," Edmund explained. "Whomever sent that note had an intimate knowledge of Britain's military forces, so intimate that he may be in the vicinity of her Majesty as we speak." Edmund cleared his throat. "This is a delicate matter, very delicate indeed. We do not wish to declare war on Maldonia at this time, for practical purposes. Besides, evidence suggests that this letter wasn't written by a Maldonian native. All we know for sure is, the doors to the chambers in which the crown jewels are stored are to be left unguarded tomorrow night at seven o'clock, or the Queen and possibly the prince and princess will be killed. Possibly in a matter of minutes."

"So it's a planned out operation, with multiple parties included," Basil reasoned.

Edmund gave a nod. "We believe that is so, yes."

Basil's interest gave way to suspicion. He glanced at Edmund. "So what do you need my help for?"

Edmund gave a wry smile. "While not quite as intelligent as I, you are still one of the smartest mice in Britain, at least that I know of. And in a delicate matter such as this, I need all the help I can get."

Basil glared at Edmund for a second, then looked down at Ratigan. "And…what do you need him for?" He asked.

Edmund shrugged. "I told you. I need the best minds in Britain."

"He's not going to be willing to help, Edmund."

Edmund gave another wry smile. "I can be quite persuasive when I want to be," he said, perhaps a bit menacingly.

Basil raised an eyebrow.

"So. Basil. Are you going to help or not?"

Basil didn't like the idea of helping his brother. He'd honestly rather let Edmund solve his own ruddy problem. But this case was far too interesting…and dangerous…to leave alone. And the Queen was in danger...Basil huffed.

"Fine. I'll solve it for England's sake. Not yours."

Edmund sighed and shrugged. Fair enough. Now." He briskly paced the room. "Here are the details. Oh, and Basil? You may want to sit down and take notes, or whatever it is you do when listening to clients."

"I don't need to sit," Basil grumbled. "And Dawson's the one who takes notes."

"Whatever. So. The letter arrived at Parliament at about nine-thirty yesterday morning. It was addressed from the Maldonian capital of Aganaza. I was called in immediately after it was read by officials. After studying the case and the letter, I realized that whomever had written the letter was-

"A stout fellow, right-handed, well-bred and clean, most likely of mixed Irish and German descent," Basil and Edmund finished together, in unison.

"Right. The writer of this letter clearly did not speak Maldonian as his first language, seeing the awkward word order and sentence structure. However, I knew it wasn't a one-man job, so I inspected it closer. What could be gained from having crown jewels? Not much, financially speaking. It isn't as if they could sell it for much without being tracked down. No, whomever wants the jewels has some grudge against England, her Queen, Maldonia, or more likely, me."

Basil snorted. "That doesn't narrow it down much."

Edmund glared at him briefly before continuing. "Whomever sent this letter must have wanted to start something between Maldonia and England, harm the queen, or get me in trouble by having the public blame me when the jewels were stolen."

"Why would the public blame you for the crown jewels going missing?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't take long for people to learn that we had to allow the jewels to be taken. And who would get blamed for that? Head of security. In other words, me."

Basil nodded.

"But, in the off chance that the letter wasn't written as a personal vendetta against me, the queen, or England herself, they may just be trying to get Maldonia in trouble. Who would have a grudge against Maldonia? Or its monarch, Prince Jannick?"

Basil briefly thought of his houseguest, but quickly shook that thought out of his head. Of course not. It couldn't be.

"There are many possibilities, Basil. That's why I need you and Ratigan. Ratigan, being a criminal himself, knows all the inner workings of a criminal's mind, and in turn may get us a motive. Once we have a motive, you and I will track down the suspects and get this whole matter taken care of."

Basil considered it for a moment. Well…

Suddenly, the door to the kitchen opened. A tired Mrs. Judson, still in her nightie, stepped blearily into the parlor. "Basil? I thought I heard voices-" She paused. She rubbed her eyes and took a look again. Two Basils? And a large gift-wrapped thing in the middle of her floor? What on Earth?

"Am I dreaming?" She asked no one in particular, looking around.

Basil was about to assure her that yes, this was a dream, she should go back to bed, but Edmund began first.

"My dear lady, I assure you that you are quite awake."

"I am? But then what…" Mrs. Judson looked at them, confused. She glanced at Ratigan on the floor. "But…but who are you? And who is that?" She stepped closer, her eyes studying Ratigan's face. Recognition flashed across her face and, before Basil or Edmund could react, screamed at the top of her lungs.

A banging sound out of sight, and suddenly Dr. Dawson and Relda burst into the room, looking around.

"What's going on? What's this all about?" They asked. Dr. Dawson spotted Ratigan lying on the floor. "Who is that? Is that Ratigan? What is he doing here! Basil! Who is that? What's going on?"

There was shouting and commotion and chaos.

Huh. It's rather like a Christmas from my childhood, Edmund thought fleetingly.

"ALL RIGHT! CALM DOWN!" Basil shouted over the commotion. "I WILL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING, JUST WAIT A MOMENT!"

"Basil, explain this right now!" Dawson demanded, tapping his foot impatiently as he comforted Mrs. Judson, who was quite hysterical.

Basil opened his mouth to explain, but was cut short by another scream from Mrs. Judson.

On the floor, Ratigan was stirring. Suddenly, Ratigan's eyelids snapped open.


	3. Chapter 3

I was eating some Blue Moon ice cream and watching this weird Czech surrealist film, when suddenly I thought, "I should write another chapter of my story." So I did. Sorry for the long wait, I'll try to be better about that in the future. Hopefully you guys like this next chapter!

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><p>For a few moments, Ratigan didn't seem to comprehend what was going on. He glanced around the room questioningly. The occupants of the room stood in silence, staring down at him. His golden eyes rested on Basil. He tried to movehis arms, but they wouldn't budge from his sides.<p>

Suddenly, Ratigan let out a fierce roar, and he thrashed around, trying to get free. Mrs. Judson screamed as well, and Relda and Basil leapt over to the side as Ratigan rolled over, trying to get up.

(Thank God Edmund tied the ribbon tightly).

Just as soon as he had begun yelling, Ratigan quieted (perhaps because he realized that, without the help of his bound hands and feet, he simply couldn't get up). Ratigan took a few deep breaths and rolled over on his back so that he could see them all. He stared back at the shocked mice in the room and smiled. Widely.

He began to chuckle, softly at first, then gradually louder. Soon he was laughing, really laughing, so that his whole body shook.

Basil and Dawson sent each other nervous sidelong glances.

"HAHAHAHAHA!" Ratigan hooted. Had he been able to move his arms, he'd no doubt be pounding the floor with his fist. He wheezed. He gasped.

"He's completely lost his mind," Edmund observed.

"His mind was lost long ago," Basil hissed back.

"BWAHAHAHAHAHA!" Ratigan wheezed. "OH…oh," he sighed, wincing in pain. His sides were hurting. "Oh, my. Isn't this fine?" He giggled, wincing again. "I'm here…in Baker Street! And you are here," he said, looking directly at Relda, "…and you, dear doctor, and you Basil." He grinned a toothy grin at Basil. Then he spotted Edmund. "Two Basils?" He asked questioningly, a strange look flickering in eyes. "Well. This is a fine situation indeed."

Edmund cleared his throat. "Your crimes haven't been forgotten, Professor."

Basil rolled his eyes. "Really. He's not even a real professor!"

"You will be in jail as soon as you are no longer needed," Edmund continued, ignoring Basil.

Ratigan raised his eyebrows. "Needed?" He echoed, before bursting into another fit of laughing.

Dawson looked at Basil. "What does he mean, Basil?" He asked, unusually sharp. "Needed for what?"

"Help on a case involving her Majesty, the Queen." Edmund cut in, before Basilcould even open his mouth to speak. Basil glared at Edmund, growling in irritation.

"The Queen?" Relda asked. "Queen Victoria?"

Ratigan gasped, still giggling, "You want me to help you?" He snorted. "And you say I'm the mad one?"

"I needed the best minds in Britain," Edmund said, shrugging.

Ratigan smiled. "So what do you need Basil for?"

Basil glared at Ratigan. "Don't you start-"

"Gentlemen, please." Edmund said coolly, stepping between them. Ratigan snickered as Basil glowered, arms crossed. "Time is of the essence here, and we really ahven't got time for childish spats."

"Childish spa-!" Basil all but screeched in indignation. "He started it!"

Ratigan smirked. "Oh, come now, Basil, don't get your knickers in such a twist."

Basil made a gesture with his arms that clearly communicated_, You see?_ To Edmund. Edmund rolled his eyes. "Basil, stop pouting and cooperate."

Dawson, who had been watching them argue like children with an upmost fascination, did a double take at the sight of Edmund's face. He stepped forward, recognition flashing in his eyes. "You…" eh murmured quietly, pointing at Edmund, "You're the man who-"

"Hush." Edmund said firmly before turning back to the two geniuses spatting in the parlor. Ratigan stuck out his tongue at Basil, who responded with a low growl and a glare intense enough to melt a snowman. "Basil. Ratigan. Stop it. I need you two to help me and by Jove, you are going to cooperate."

"Really?" Ratigan turned over slowly like a sluggish flapjack and looked up at Edmund. "And what sort of leverage do you have on me, eh? How exactly do I know that I am going to help you?"

Edmund's eyes frosted over. "You are a criminal mastermind in the hands of a powerful government official. There are far too many things I could do to you for you to risk not cooperating."

His tone was like a dagger of ice. Dawson gave an involuntary shudder.

Ratigan's smile was frozen in place. Hatred, not fear, glowed in his eyes—he knew his arms were tied. He spat out in an over-saccharine tone, "and whats in it for me if I do decide to cooperate, out of the goodness of my heart?"

Basil snorted. "Goodness, ha. That filthy criminal doesn't have a heart to begin with."

Edmund shot Basil a look. "Basil. I'm trying to negotiate terms here." He turned back to Ratigan. "Perhaps a small reward would be in order. A shortened jail term, perhaps."

"Now wait just a moment!" Basil cut in. "If that piece of pond scum gets out of jail in any vehicle but a hearse, I refuse to help!" he stormed to a corner of the parlor, pouting.

"Basil!" Edmund protested.

"Oh, come on, Basil old chap. Be a dear and help this gentleman out, eh?" Ratigan smiled sweetly at Edmund. "I'll be happy to take the deal."

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Edmund turned to Basil expectantly. "Basil…"

Basil stomped his foot. "No, no, no. I won't do it. I won't!"

Edmund gave Dawson and Relda an exasperated look. Help me, he pleaded silently.

Dawson wasn't sure. He was kind of with Basil on this one. Accept a case with Ratigan? The idea!

But Relda went over to Basil. Glancing at Edmund briefly, she whispered to Basil, "He may have a point. Hear me out," she said quickly before Basil could start on her, "Just hear me out. You love England, don't you? And you love the Queen."

Basil considered this for a moment, shrugging and nodding.

"Well, I honestly don't have the foggiest on what this whole thing is about, but whatever it is, it's enough to cause a high-ranking government official to come to you and Ratigan in his time of need. Whatever has got him that puzzled must be mighty interesting indeed."

Basil hesitated.

"I want to see that filthy sewer…ahem. That criminal behind bars as much as you do, but that may have to wait. England is in danger. Do this and Queen Victoria will be safe again. And who knows? Perhaps Edmund can be persuaded to…renounce the deal as soon as it's all over." She whispered so that only Basil could hear. "Save England. Get Ratigan behind bars. Not to mention you'll get to solve a most interesting case. I think it's worth it."

Basil's eyes widened. She did have a point. And this case…it was just too interesting to ignore… conflict warred in him. Should he solve the case with his worst enemy, knowing that he might get to go free when it's all over? Or should he refuse to help, possibly leaving the Queen and her grandchildren at the mercy of countless possible spies?

He gave a sigh, defeated. "Fine," he told Edmund. "But if, and only if, that criminal spends more than a month in jail."

Five pairs of eyes turned on Ratigan. He shrugged. "Suits me," he said easily. I'll escape far before then anyway, he added mentally.

Edmund smiled in relief. "Excellent."

"Wait a minute," Mrs. Judson, who had calmed down, interjected.

"Oh, good Lord," Edmund raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

"Are you telling me," continued Mrs. Judson, "That Professor Ratigan isn't going to jail?"

"He will," Basil said firmly, suddenly very business-like.

"But-" Mrs. Judson started again, but Basil interrupted.

"Mrs. Judson, kindly butt out! We have work to do!" He cried.

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><p>Author's Note- I hope you guys liked this chapter! More on the way!<p>

Thank you so much to my readers and reviewers! You guys rock.

Til next time (which will hopefully not be too terribly long from now)

Narwhals Forever


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I. Am. So. Sorry.

Honestly, life has gotten in the way. I had to put my fics on the back burner for a while so I could sort out a whole bunch of stuff. Anyway, I think I figured out how my story is going to play out now, I've got a pretty good outline of what's to come in my head, so these next few chapters will probably be easier to write (and come sooner). Thank you all so much for your patience. Enjoy!

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><p>Basil explained to Relda, Dawson, and Mrs. Judson exactly what was happening. Or, rather explained to Dawson and Relda. Mrs. Judson didn't do much more than wring her hands and send fearful looks at Ratigan, who seemed to delight in her fear of him.<p>

Dawson held up a hand to slow Basil down. "Wait, wait, Basil. I can only write so fast," Dawson, who had resigned himself to helping as soon as he learned the true scope of what was going on. He went over his notes. "So I have so far: the letter was from Maldonia, whomever wrote it has accomplices and a position in the queen's inner circle, whomever wrote the letter was of Maldonian descent…"

"NOT of Maldonian descent," Basil snapped. "Really, Dawson. Pay attention. Now. Whomever wrote the letter has mixed German and Irish ancestry, does not speak Maldonian as their first language, stout and right-handed. And clean," Basil added after a moment. "Quite clean."

"How do you know for sure it's a man?" inquired Relda curiously.

"Because I do. Have you got that all down, Dawson?"

"Yes, I-I think so." Dawson scribbled a last point and dotted a period with finality.

"So. Edmund. You know the government better than anyone here. Who do you know in the Queen's inner circle that fits that description?" Asked Basil.

Edmund narrowed his eyes. "There are a few. Not sure about Williamsworth's heritage, but there is also Lord Abraham Murphy and Prime Minister Gutredge."

Dawson gasped. "The Prime minister is a suspect?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Most likely not. I know the man. He's too stupid. And cowardly. But mostly stupid." He snorted through his nose. "Lord Abraham Murphy or Lord Williamsworth."

Basil raised an eyebrow, listening with an unreadable expression on his face. "But we don't know for sure which one," Basil said, thinking through the facts. "Have either of them any reason to want to harm the queen, or England, or have a personal vendetta against you?"

"Both hate me. It's not very hard to do, admittedly. They only keep me around because I'm smarter than all of them combined." Edmund smirked at the thought. "But I suppose both of them have some sort of…motive for wanting to harm the queen, at any rate. Both have had a bit of a…disagreement with her, you see."

Ratigan, who had been preoccupied with smiling lewdly at Mrs. Judson (who quickly shuffled into the kitchen and closed the door so she wouldn't have to look at him anymore) looked up. "Ooh! Gossip! Do tell," he grinned toothily.

Edmund ignored him. "Lord Murphy has a bit of a gambling problem. It's not a secret anymore that he's been snatching up more than his fair share for his salary, to fuel his habits. Nobody knows how that information got to the Queen, but it did." Edmund smiled in a way that told Basil Edmund probably had a very good idea of how that information had gotten to the queen. "She has warned him in no uncertain terms that if he is caught embezzling more money, he will be taken to court and sent on a one-way trip to the nearest jail. Something he was obviously not very happy about." Edmund grinned thinly before continuing to Lord Williamsworth. "Williamsworth has been getting a little…proud, if you get my meaning, of the way he has climbed up the social ladder. Being in Victoria's inner circle, he feels the need to flaunt his authority and knowledge around wherever he goes. It annoys the Queen to no end, and she has let him know that he should stop flaunting it around, lest he be stripped of the title of Lord. Obviously, he was not a very happy Williamsworth." Edmund smiled softly. "Either could have wanted to get revenge, so to speak. Both are petty enough."

Basil narrowed his eyes. Relda could practically see the gears turning. "We may have to pay the both of them a call," he murmured. "Perhaps we could split up into two groups…one for Murphy, one for Williamsworth. We get the information out of them and get to the bottom of this whole thing quicker. It'll be more efficient that way, anyway."

Edmund seemed to approve of this idea, at least as far as Relda could tell. The man seemed to have two facial expression; his eyes were the only thing that ever seemed to express any emotion (besides annoyance and eerie, unreadable emptiness.) Relda was reminded vaguely of the con men that used to play the old money-under-the-hat trick with people on the streets of New York when she was touring there. "Remember to keep your eyes on the hat with the money under it," her friend Wallace had told her as they has watched the con man snatch up another dollar from the portly gentleman, who gasped in horror. "Don' ever rely on watchin' their faces, not even when they're talking all friendly. They know to keep one face on in front and whatever else on the inside." Relda wondered whatever else was going on in Basil's brother's head.

Ratigan looked up in surprise, practically jumping in the air in excitement (though he forgot that he had been tied up, so what would have been a successful jump to the feet ended up being a clumsy topple to the ground). Nonetheless, he grinned up eagerly. "AH, finally! I am ever so tired of being tied up on the floor like this. Now we get to go and do something!"

Dawson glanced wearily at him. "Basil," he began, but Edmund cut him off.

"Not now. Now, if we were to go with this plan, how would we split up?" Edmund asked Basil. Dawson looked a bit miffed.

"You're supposed to be the smartest mouse in Britain," Basil remarked snidely. "You tell me."

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Tschk."

Dawson tried to reenter the conversation. "Perhaps-"

"Not now," Basil shushed him. Dawson was now getting a little more than annoyed.

Edmund's eyes were fixed on the floor as he thought through the whole thing. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He looked over at Relda, a smile on his face. Relda didn't like it. It was smug and knowing, and a dash lewd. That coupled with his cold, calculating eyes (which looked rather like Basil's when he was analyzing somebody, but creepier). "Williamsworth has two weaknesses," Edmund said. "Gambling and women."

She knew immediately what he was thinking. "Wait a minute," she protested. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Murphy will need to be intimidated with an ample amount of manpower," Edmund shrugged. "Williamsworth won't be half that effort…an attractive young lady will get information out of him in less than five minutes."

Dawson gaped. "Are you suggesting that-"

Edmund did a facepalm. "No," he sighed exasperated. "She won't need to…just a few choice words will be all it takes."

Relda paused. Well…she supposed it made sense. She wasn't above using a few feminine tricks here and there to get the better of her mle opponents. She'd used a similar trick on Basil once or twice, though ore out of desperation than this time around. She glanced over at Basil, whose face had turned unreadable.

"Basil and Dawson take Murphy. I will accompany Miss… ah…"

"Cheddarton." Relda finished.

"Whatever."

"No," Basil said. "Doctor Dawson and I will be accompanying Relda."

Edmund raised an eyebrow.

"Because I don't trust you," Basil said simply.

Edmund shrugged. Didn't matter to him.

"Basil!" Dawson tried again to get Basil's attention. Basil whipped around to face Dawson, annoyed.

"What?"

"What about Ratigan?"

"Yes, what about me?" Ratigan asked dramatically. "Honestly. I'm right here."

Basil smirked. "You'll be accompanying Edmund."

"But how?" Relda asked, confused. "He can't move anywhere."

Basil quickly left the room. The others were left in an awkward silence for a moment or two before Basil barreled back into the parlor, holding a pair of what looked like century-old shackles. "Handcuffs, Spanish-made, circa 1630," Basil announced. Ah. Relda remembered seeing those lying around in Basil's room.

Ratigan looked less than impressed. He shook his head. "This is your crowning achievement, hmm, Basil? How do we keep the most famed criminal mastermind in the history of England from getting away? Handcuffs! SO brilliant!" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Basil's theme tune was unperturbed. "You're just jealous," he muttered, motioning for Ratigan to hold out his hands.

Ratigan pulled his wrists away from Basil teasingly before holding them out again. "Jealous of what?" he asked. "Your brilliant brainpower? I already have that, and more."

Basil growled slightly, but otherwise ignored him as he clapped the handcuffs over his w working at the ribbon so that only his feet were bound as well. Ratigan grinned as Basil's hand accidentally brushed over his, his eyes never leaving Basil's face, like he was hving a one-sided staring contest with him. Half imagining all the positively evil things he could do to Basil, and half imagining all the different ways he could get out of the handcuffs. Basil knew that Ratigan was never actually caught by the police and would therefore have no experience in escaping handcuffs, especially two century years-old Spanish ones. Good reasoning, but unfortunately false. Ratigan had practiced various forms of escape during his time being "dead" (being surrounded by such idiots as the Rakers left a lot of time for Ratigan to be bored out of his mind. Practicing escape was a useful hobby). Right now he was thinking of all the ways he could sneak out of the handcuffs…they were in good shape, to be sure. Perhaps if he could snitch a hair pin from that slat-er, young lady—he could tease the lock open…

Edmund clapped his hands. "Well? Shall we be off then?"

Basil made a noncommitted noise, and Edmund looked at him questioningly. "Isn't this the part where you get all excited, determined to win the case?"

Dawson nodded. He had been wondering about that too. Whatever the answer was, though, Basil didn't quite hear. He murmured something under his breath about "Edmund…sucks all the fun…out of everything."

Relda tried to walk to the other side of the room, but tripped over an outstretched leg. She looked back and glared daggers at Ratigan, who grinned nonchalantly at her. Relda looked like she was chewing her tongue to avoid saying the nasty words that had popped in her head, a stray chunk of her hair falling over her face.

Dawson, ever the gentleman, nobly helped the lady to her feet. Ratigan's hand tightened around the hairpin he had swiped from her bun…

* * *

><p>"This is ridiculous, Basil!" Dawson hissed at Basil as they peered through the peepholes conveniently cut in the eyes of the portrait. Edmund had told them a whole network of tunnels in the walls of Lord Williamsworth's mansion existed…Dawson had assumed it was for security purposes, in ase the Lord needed to make an escape, though Edmund had never really specified how he knew these tunnels existed (which made Dawson all the more weary of and slightly uncomfortable with him).<p>

On the other side of the painting, in the hallway, Relda (dressed up in a raggedy, drab old maid's uniform) dusted nervously. She was singing quitly to herself, so much out of hbit that she probably didn't even know she was doing it. It was a nonsense song she had learned from one Biddy O' Flaherty, a schoolfriend of hers from the days of Madame Anita's School of Voice. "Too rye ya, fa did diddle da, fyedle darie ana darie ya hoo…" Her words lilted lightly in the melody as she looked side to side, waiting anxiously for Lord Williamsworth to come along.

The portrait of Lord Williamsworth's great-great-something or other blinked. The emerald eyes peering out were replaced by a pair of calf brown ones as Dawson gently pushed Basil out of the way so he could see. "Can't we find another way to…I mean, shouldn't we be-?"

"Edmund's philosophy is the less the Queen knows, the better," Basil remarked snidely. "That's how he keeps his job. If she finds out that there was a spy in her midst despite him being head of security, she won't fire him, but she'll begin to doubt him. And she won't be as willing to give him what he wants to appease him in the future. This whole thing is in his own self-interest, he just wants to save face."

"…I was talking about Miss Cheddarton," Dawson said after a pause.

Basil stared for a moment awkwardly. "Oh."

"Isn't there another way to get the information, rather than have her…you know, have to…"

Basil frowned, a flash of unreadable emotion flickering across his face. He shrugged. "It's the easiest way to get information, I suppose," Basil said shortly. "No doubt the quickest."

Dawson narrowed his eyes for a moment. "If…if what you said about your brother is true, then why are we helping him?"

Basil sighed, exasperated. He almost made a "tschk" noise, but stopped himself just in time. "Tsc—he wasn't making up the part about being a spy. England really is in danger, and as the Queen's loyal subjects we have to do our best to protect her. I was just saying Edmund doesn't really care about the Queen like he said, that's all."

"Hrm." Dawson made a worried sound, his mustache turning upside down into an unhappy 'u' shape. He was distracted quickly by an arrival on the other side of the picture…Lord WIlliamsworth himself.

He whistled to himself as he made his way down the hall. Like Edmund knew he would, Willilamsworth paused to look at Relda. "Well," he said, putting his hands on his rotund belly as he enjoyed the view. "What have we here?"

Relda turned around, immediately stopping the singing and putting on a heavy Polish accent, one she had learned after studying in Warsaw for so long. "Yes," she said, curtsying. "I vas hired just yesterday."

"Charmed," Williamsworth said slimily.

"I am so excited to vork in such an important man's house," Relda said, flirting by batting her eyes and posing coyly for him.

"Well," Williamsworth said, puffing up with pride. "Aren't you the flatterer?"

Behind the picture, Basil made a gagging gesture. Dawson shot him a look and mouthed the words, "Basil! I thought you were more mature than that!"

"It is a lovely place," Relda admitted shyly to Williamsworth, who was now trying to impress her with his credentials and flirting clumsily with her_. Good Lord, _she thought as he greedily took her in_, I've known rabid obsessive fans to be more subtle than him. I don't think he's looked me in the eye once._

"…It's quite an important job, you know," Williamsworth said happily. They were seatedin the love seat in the hall, Relda trying as hard as she could to keep her knees out of Williamsworth's easy reach. "I'm in the Queen's inner circle."

"Wow," Relda, who hadn't really been listening, replied. "Ze Queen must love having such a clever and wonderful man like you around."

Lord WIlliamsworth nodded vehemently. "Oh, she absolutely loves me," he told her.

Basil's eyes narrowed. Filthy liar, he thought.

Relda tried a different approach. "So confident, so secure…I can't imagine zat you vould have anyzing to vorry about."

"Oh, no. That's not true," Wiliamsworth said. "It's a very tense and strenuous job. Puts a lot of strain on your nerves, you know."

"Oh, poor man," Relda said. "Here. Let me try to help." She began rub his shoulders, gently. He began to relax instantly, completely melting under the hands of the pretty lady. Basil's breath caught in his throat and he did not know why. "Vat is ze matter?"

"Ah…" Williamsworth slurred. "I don't know. My job is threatened, and for no good reason!"

"Oh my!" Relda exclaimed half-heartedly.

"I know! It's not fair." Willaimsworth pouted. "I didn't do anything wrong, and the Queen said I had to…I don't even remember. Oh, my dear…" he hesitated, not knowing the "maid's" name. Relda did not supply one. Williamsworth continued on. "…The queen used to love me, and now she doesn't! And oh…ugh, it makes me so, so mad!"

Relda paused. Here was her chance. "Oh, I know that feeling. She wronged you."

"She did!"

"And you must vant to do somezing about it, yes?"

"I do!"

"Well…" Relda paused. "What about some sort of…revenge?"

Williamsworth immediately snapped out of his sleepy trance-like state and looked at Relda in shock. "What?" He almost fell off the loveseat in surprise. "What are you talking about? She's the queen! And I could never get away with it…I couldn't ever…" Williamsworth got up to his feet awkwardly. "Er…I mean, I, uh…I wouldn't want revenge anyway, I mean…If she finds out I said anything, she'd…well…" he stopped. Wordless, he spun around and retreated awkwardly down the hall. Relda stared after him before glancing at the painting.

Basil and Dawson had seen the whole thing. "Well," Dawson said to Basil, "Does that at least narrow down the list of suspects?"

* * *

><p>Edmund's carriage was parked in a secure location and they had snuck in around the back. The whole tavern smelled of booze and body odor. Edmund wrinkled his nose. The place was disgusting, really. He wasn't used to such places.<p>

He had had no trouble finding Murphy, however. Gambling and drinking to the point of excess, he was busy having a perfectly marvelous time risking his money in a poker game with a couple of street thugs. Edmund had seen his chance and swooped in at the end of the poker game.

"OI, there, friend," he said in a thick Liverpudlian accent, "I ain't ever seen you around this place before. What's your name, then, newcomer?"

Murphy wasn't drunk enough to not lie about his name. "They call me O' Hara," He told Edmund.

"Listen," Edmund whispered conspiratorially, "I was just seein' you winning that poker game there…"

"Oh, yes, I do love poker," Murphy slurred, holding close his precious earnings in his arms.

"…An I was thinkin' to meself, I thought, wouldn' this gentleman like to test his skills a bit more, see?"

Murphy paused. "What do you mean?"

"Look here, mate," Edmund murmured, "There's a lottery been set up in my room in the back. A few boys an' I have it set up like this, see? We put in our earnings and drawstraws, an' whoever gets the shortest straw, well they get the whole jackpot. It's a bit like poker, see, but without the cards. Jus' come to the back and you'll see. What do you think of that, eh?"

Either Murphy was stupider than he thought or far drunker than he thought, because Murphy took the bait like a half-starved fish. He nodded vehemently and followed Edmund to the back, where he had gotten a room.

"Oi, it's in here, mate," Edmund said, knocking on the door three times. When nobody answered, he opened the door and led Murphy inside, closing the door firmly shut behind him.

Murphy looked around the room in confusion. "I thought you said there was gon' be more men in here," Murphy said as he lood around confusedly. "I thought we were going to play the lottery."

From the shadowy corner of the room a figure rose to his feet. His hands and feet were bound, so he had to balance against the wall. But his formidable size and glowing gold eyes were unmistakable. Murphy turnd and saw him, then almost collapsed in fright.

"R-R-Ratigan!" He squealed, running for the door. His path was blocked by Edmund, who took off the silly cap he had been wearing. Murphy squealed again. "And Basil of Baker Street!?"

Edmund gaped for second. "What? No!" He gritted his teeth in annoyance. "Tschk. Come on, Murphy. Are you drunk enough that you don't even recognize me?"

The alcohol-induced blurriness cleared from Murphy's watery brown eyes momentarily. "Edmund? Is that you?" He shook his head, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"He's just trying to intimidate you into talking," Ratigan said. He grinned toothily. "That's why I'm here."

Murphy, who seemed to have momentarily forgotten about Ratigan, shrieked again, trying to hide behind Edmund, who pushed him away in annoyance.

"Out with it, Murphy," Edmund said sternly. "You've been conspiring against the Queen, haven't you?"

"W-W-What? No! I haven't-"

"I warn you, Murphy. I have a criminal mastermind in my custody, but that doesn't mean I won't let the handcuffs off…"

"N-N-No! I…Don't do that! I don't even know what this is about!"

Edmund foraged the piece of paper out of his clothes and waved it in Murphy's face. Murphy turned a rather impressive shade of white. "Does this refresh your memory?"

"Oh, Lord have Mercy on me," Murphy muttered under his breath. Ratigan raised an eyebrow.

"I do believe that was a confession," Ratigan smirked smugly. Murphy shook his head.

"N-No! I would never-!"

"Running out of time, Murphy," Edmund said irritably. "You have ten seconds to spill everything or I take the handcuffs off. Ten…" Murphy whirled around to glance nervously at Ratigan, who gestured meaningfully to the handcuffs and grinned. "Nine…eight…"

"ALL RIGHT! All right!" Murphy cried out in defeat. "I wrote the letter, I wanted to get back at the Queen for threatening to take my job away so I threatened her to scare her…"

Edmund's eyes narrowed. "Seven…six…five…"

"A-And I blamed Maldonia because it was an easy target…"

"Four…three…"

"And I hired a few hands to take the jewels and they're working in Buckingham Palace right now as help!" Murphy wheezed.

"Names!" Edmund demanded sternly. Unfortunately, it was too late. Murphy had fainted in alarm. Or drunkenness, Edmund wasn't quite sure.

Ratigan made a disapproving noise and shook his head, clucking his tongue. "He would make a terrible criminal mastermind," he said.

"Well, I suppose we're stuck with him now," Edmund said, trying to picture how the three of them would fit in the carriage. He heard a faint popping sound and looked up sharply. "What was that?"

Ratigan shrugged. "How should I know?" He said nonchalantly. Edmund narrowed his eyes.

"Handcuffs, now."

"What, you don't trust me?" Ratigan asked teasingly. Edmund's stern expression did not change, and Ratigan sighed. "I'm hurt, sir. Quite hurt." But he held out his wrists anyway. Edmund reached out and wiggled the handcuffs a bit. They seemed sound. Edmund eyed Ratigan suspiciously.

"Don't you dare try anything," Edmund warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Ratigan purred. When Edmund turned around, Ratigan slid the hairpin out of his sleeve and into his hand, working the end in between the chain and the cuff itself, where the rust had been chipped away, almost breaking away…

* * *

><p>Author's Note...continued. Again.<p>

One quick thing...the "nonsense song" Relda sings is actually part of an old Irish song called "As I Roved Out," available all over Youtube. Just in case old Irish love songs are your thing. Hey, you never know.

Next update will be posted soon. I promise. Thank you all so much for staying tuned and reviewing!

Toodles!

Narwhal Forever


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter's a bit short, but it's okay because th next one will probably be longer. Hopefully you like it, and please leave a review!

Tchuess!

Narwhals Forever

* * *

><p>Edmund wasn't really sure why he was so good at dragging unconscious mice out of places with nobody seeing, but he was, and that was how Lord Murphy, Ratigan, and Edmund escaped through the back of Old Swampy's without arousing any suspicion in the regulars at the bar.<p>

The back alley behind the tavern smelled of raw sewage and disease. Justified, as the tavern wasn't far from the Thames River. Edmund plopped the unconscious Murphy into a heap on the ground. "Tschk," he clucked, shaking his head.

"Edmund!" A harsh whispering voice behind them startled him, causing Edmund to jump straight into the air in surprise. He whirled around as Ratigan smiled good-nturedly.

"Basil, old chap!" Ratigan drawled. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Basil put a finger to his lips, motioning for him to be quiet. Behind him, Relda and Dawson followed solemnly.

Contrarily as ever, Ratigan didn't shut up. "We had a marvelous time intimidating the filthy coward into a pathetic puddle," Ratigan continued, gesturing at Murphy on the ground, who was indeed lying in a puddle of who knows what.

"I said, be quiet!" hissed Basil to Ratigan, though he did spare a curious glance at the conked-out Lord. "What did you do to him?" He whisper-yelled at Edmund.

"What did I-" Edmund looked affronted. "I didn't do anything to him! He- oh, never mind."

Basil rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Lord WIlliamsworth isn't in on it. He wasn't suspicious enough to pursue the case further."

"I could have told you that," Edmund said. "Murphy is the one we've been looking for. He would've said everything had someone not frightened him into a heap," he said, glaring at Ratigan.

Ratigan shrugged. "I did what I was told. Besides, it amused me."

Relda stepped forward. "SO Murphy is the conspirator?"

"Yes," answered Edmund. "He's the one who wrote the note. We just need to find out who his accomplices are."

Basil nodded. He held out a hand. "Dawson, your flask, if you please."

Dawson blinked, confused. "My what?"

Basil rolled his eyes, making an impatient sound. "You flask, Dawson. The one you always carry with you." When Dawson continued to look confused, Basil said, "Really? You live with the greatest detective in all of Britain and you think he wouldn't notice it being snuck into your coat pocket every time you go out?"

Caught red-handed, Dawson embarrassedly took the silver flask of rum out of his pocket and handed it to Basil. Basil nimbly twisted the cork out and splashed the amber liquid into the snoozing Lord's face Murphy coughed and spluttered. "Come on, man," Basil ordered. "Get up."

Murphy's watery eyes popped open and he looked around wildly, still coughing. "What? Who's that now? Where am I?"

"I'm giving you a chance to spill everything about your conspiracy against the queen, you filthy no-good scoundrel," said Basil coldly, "Or I turn him loose on you." Basil jerked his head at Ratigan, who nodded and waved cheerfully. Murphy withered.

"I-I already told you everything," Murphy whined.

"Rubbish," Edmund said, sidling up next to his younger brother. Their slender, tall figures standing together in the shadows made quite an impressive display. Murphy whimpered as Edmund continued, "We know you have co-conspirators, Murphy. Tell us who they are, immediately."

Murphy swallowed hard. "I-uh, I hired a few hands, but…but I don' remember their names. Or faces."

"Oh, I see. You hired some people to help you threaten Her Majesty herself, but you don't remember who they are at all," Basil said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ratigan tut-tutted. "Really, that's the best you could do?" he asked Murphy. "Sorry to say, old chap, but I was lying better than you when I was a lad of four mere years."

Murphy broke down. "Okay! All right! There was a man, and a woman. They both work at the palace. After the Queen threatened to have me booted off, I was real upset, see? And I thought I wanted some revenge against her. First, though, I needed to play a game. But I couldn't get no money to gamble without losing my job. And the Crown Jewels…well, what could I win in a poker game with those? I'd be able to buy my own kingdom! And best yet, the queen would be humiliated! So I hired the man and the woman, the man's last name was Smith, and he didn't give me no first name, but the girl's name was Heather and the last name was something like Berry, or Bradbury, or something, and I said that if they stole the jewels for me they'd get half the profits…"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Basil lifted a hand to slow him down. "You mean to tell me that you hired a man and a woman to steal the crown jewels for you so they'd get half the profits when you entered and hopefully won the jewels and more in a poker game."

Murphy nodded meekly. "That was all, though, I swear!" He cried. "We weren't going to do no real harm to her! I was sure that, if the queen saw the battle plans and knew that there were numerous insiders poised to strike, she'd be too afraid to do anything but give up the jewels! It was foolproof!"

"Not foolproof enough, I'm afraid." Edmund remarked snidely. "I do wonder what wthe Queen will decide to do with you once she hears of this."

Murphy's watery eyes widened. "No! But-but you wouldn't do that, would you, Edmund, old chap? You and I know eachother. You wouldn't do little old me in."

"If you're looking for mercy, I'm afraid you won't find it here," Edmund said flatly. He turned to Basil, Relda, and Dawson. "Shall we turn him in?"

"Perhaps it's more important to talk to the Queen about this first," Dawson said. "The spies that he hired are still in her midst. Might as well get them all before talking to her about this."

Edmund raised his eyebrows. "Fair point."

Edmund and Basil looked at each other, then at Murphy. "Shall we?" Basil asked.

Edmund nodded. Murphy slumped to the ground. He knew he was finished.

* * *

><p>Buckingham Palace, Relda noted, was quite beautiful. She supposed it would have to be, considering it was practically the heart of Britain itself. But the sheer lavishness of the place—the crystal chandeliers, polished tile floors, lush curtains of velvet and satin—its beauty rivaled any opera house or castle or theater Relda had ever seen.<p>

Edmund was used to the sights and walked the halls briskly, undistracted by any of the luxury. He turned to face Relda. "Do you mind hurrying up a bit?" He asked, annoyed.

"Forgive me, I wasn't aware that a bit of looking around would be of such offense to you." Relda shot back.

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Tschk." He kept on walking.

"Do you think Dawson will be all right, watching the prisoners?" Relda asked Basil.

Basil shrugged. Murphy and Ratigan had been put under Dawson's watch in an alleyway nearby. Dawson had been instructed to use any military training he could to his advantage if either Ratigan or Murphy tried to get away. Murphy, they weren't so worried about, but Ratigan was shackled and chaned together. "Dawson will be fine," Basil said. "He's a sharp-eyed old chap."

"One thing that's been bothering me," Relda said as the trio strode past a few century-old protraits of the British Royal families, "how are we going to find the mice that Murphy hired? I mean, the Heather woman might be easy enough, but Smith is such a common surname."

"I have my ways of finding out such things," Edmund, who neither Basil nor Relda had known was listening until now, said. They paused at a door. Edmund opened it, revealing a splendid private dining area, fit only for a Queen. A few servants were busy polishing silverware, setting the table, and getting it ready for the midday meal. At the sight of a basket of warm cheese biscuits and platters of grapes and assorted cheeses, Relda's stomach growled. S he realized she hadn't eaten anything all day.

Basil and Relda hesitated in the doorway as Edmund approached one of the maids. He swooped in and pulled her over to the side, ignoring her initial shriek of surprise. She looked up at him.

"Oh, Edmund!" She cried, brushing a stray piece of her blonde fur from her eyes, self-conciously. She smoothed out her skirt. "I, uh, I mean—what are you doing here?"

Edmund smiled kindly at her. When he spoke, his voice was warm and smooth, like honey custard. It was jarring even to Basil.

"Bridget, darling," Edmund said suavely. The girl sighed longingly when he said her name. "I need some help with something."

The girl tossed her hair in annoyance. "You only come when you need something," she whined.

"Oh, lamb," Edmund protested, turning her to face him. "Please. I need this, it's very important. Look, I even brought my brother here. You wouldn't disappoint me in front of my brother, would you?"

"Your brother? The detective?" Bridget's eyes widened in recognition when she spotted Basil.

"Do you know anyone named Smith? One that Lord Murphy might be acquainted with?" Edmund asked.

Bridget tapped a finger to her chin in thought. "Hmmm. Someone Lord Murphy would be acquainted with? Uh…it would have to be somebody rather important, or socializes with guests…what about one of the butlers? There's a butler named Gregory Smith, I've seen him in the halls once or twice."

"Excellent," Edmund said approvingly. He gestured to Basil and Relda, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with amazement. "Shall we then?"

"But wait!" Bridget whined. "You're leaving already?" She leaned on Edmunds arm.

Edmund brushed her off of his arm. "I'll meet you sometime next week for…for a walk or something," he said, his smooth demeanor becoming a bit more strained as he practically had to shove her off of him.

"Next week?! But-"

"Let's go, come on," Edmund said briskly. Relda and Basil hurried after him. Relda sent an apologetic glance over her shoulder at the distressed looking Bridget. "Poor thing," she muttered only loud enough for Basil to hear, before swiping a cube of cheese off the platter. Basil caught the motion and sent her a disapproving glare. "What?" Relda whispered, looking around them. "Nobody saw me." Basil shook his head and held out his hand. Relda cocked her head to the side. "Wha-oh," she realized what he meant and handed him half the cube of cheese. He grinned and popped it into his mouth.

They walked through the dining room and into another hall. Basil had memorized the layout of the palace long ago, but even after all this time the palace still continued to amaze him with the sheer hugeness of it all.

"Do you enjoy tormenting that poor girl?" asked Relda as they walked along.

Edmund snorted. "She's useful."

"Oh?" Relda sounded offended. "She's useful, is all? You have no regard for her feelings whatsoever?"

"Tschk." Edmund rolled his eyes in indifference. Relda looked to Basil for support, who shrugged. Suddenly, a blur of something small and gray barreled towards them. Basil and Edmund stepped swiftly out of the way, Relda jumping aside and lifting her skirts to avoid them getting caught in the wheels of the wagon. For it was a wagon, ridden by two small children shrieking with delight.

"What was that?" cried Relda.

"Judging by the abandon in which they roam the halls of the palace with seemingly no consequence, as well as the worried manservant following them, I deduce…the Queen's grndhildren, the prince and princess." Basil observed coolly.

Relda raised an eyebrow. "What manser-"

"Your majesties!" A brown-furred mouse in a rather drab set of clothes dashed past them, calling after the children. "Be careful!"

"Oh." Relda followed Edmund and Basil, who were already halfway down the hall.

* * *

><p>After a while of just walking through the eternal palace corridors, they made a sharp turn and ended up in a dead end that Basil recognized as the door to the Queen's chambers. Two guards stood outside the door.<p>

"Edmund of the Department of Security to see the queen," Edmund told one of the men.

"Uh, someone's already in there, sir." The guard answered.

Edmund did a double take. "What?" He asked. "Who?"

The guard shrugged.

Edmund would not back down so easily. "This is important," he said.

The guard shrugged again. "He said it was important too."

Edmund's eyes narrowed. What-"

Just then, the door flew open, and out stepped the regal Queen Mousetoria herself. She was clutching something in her hand.

"Ah, Edmund," Mousetoria said. "Just the man I was hoping to see. And Basil of Baker Street, too. How convenient." She held up the piece of paper. Basil's eyes widened as he realized what it was.

Her Majesty frowned as she gestured to the Maldonian threat letter. "So Maldonia's threatening my Grandchildren and I, are they?" She asked. "Just why didn't I hear about this before?"


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:

Well, here it is. The final chapter of this story. Hopefully you guys like it!

* * *

><p>Edmund stared at her majesty, speechless. "But…but how-"<p>

The Queen fixed him with a cold glare. "Well?"

"Your Majesty…who gave you that letter?" Edmund asked.

The Queen stiffened. "That isn't an answer to my question," Queen Mousetoria said. "I asked you why I haven't heard about this before. See here," she said, waving the letter in his face, "_This_ to me seems like a direct threat to not only England's security, but my own."

"Your Majesty-"

She held up her hand, cutting him off. "And furthermore," she continued, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe it was your job to protect this nation. Doesn't seem like you're doing a very good job of that, are you? Not now that there's a spy in a highranking government position, and _especially_ not when you're keeping the danger a secret from its leader."

"I beg-"

"Whoever wrote this letter is in my close vicinity to have such military knowledge," The Queen said. "Espionage in my own government. Something that _you_ are supposed to be preventing," she said meaningfully.

Edmund inhaled sharply. "Your Majesty," he said stiffly, "Who gave you that letter?"

The Queen fixed him with a cold glare, saying nothing. Instead, the question was answered by a gray-furred mouse with the shape of an icebox. Basil, out of force of habit, analyzed him. The mouse was around five inches tall, unmarried, his whiskers curled delicately indicating vanity and plenty of time to look at himself in the mirror in the morning. His sideburns were shaved slightly shorter (exactly one fifth of a centimeter) on the left side, I implying left-handedness. The mouse was also immaculately dressed in a butler's uniform. He emerged from the doorway with a smug smile on his face. "From a trusted associate," the mouse said.

Relda gave the man an odd look. "And who, pray tell, might you be?"

The man swept a polite bow. "Gregory Smith, my dear."

Basil's eyes widened. "Smith?" He echoed.

Gregory Smith the Butler nodded in agreement. "Quite."

Edmund looked incredulously at the Queen. "Since when did the butler become a trusted associate?!" He cried.

"Ever since he demonstrated more concern about England's and my own safety than you ever did," the Queen told him. Had Basil been in the company of anyone but the leader of England, he probably would have sniggered. But he caught himself before he did. In the meantime, Edmund's eye twitched, this metaphorical slap in the face almost too much to bear.

"That man," Edmund said tensely, trying to control the all-too-clear annoyance in his voice, "Is one of the men that was hired by Lord Murphy to gain the jewels."

The Queen stared at Edmund for a moment before bursting out laughing. "Oh my goodness, forgive me," she said between giggles. "But…but Lord Murphy? That gambling coward wouldn't…"

"We didn't think so either, Your Majesty, but we have a confession." Edmund said patiently.

Gregory Smith looked offended. "How dare you, sir!" He cried indignantly. "The thought that I would ever betray my Queen…the nerve! Where is your proof? Eh? Where are your grounds for such a preposterous accusation?"

"We have a confession," Edmund repeated.

Gregory Smith snorted. "Hardly proof of anything. Besides, that letter came from Maldonia."

Queen Mousetoria nodded in agreement. "Exactly right. The letter was Maldonian. The spies who sent the threat are Maldonian. This is a direct act of aggression towards England and Her Queen. Parliament is voting on it tomorrow…once the evidence has been demonstrated, we will go to war with them."

Basil, who had been about to interrupt and claim that the letter wasn't Maldonian, stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at the Queen, as did Relda and Edmund. War?

Gregory Smith cleared his throat. "As I was saying, before these people's arrival interrupted us," he said, glancing not-so-subtly at Edmund, "Perhaps we should let them take the jewels, and avoid war…"

Queen Mousetoria whirled on Smith. "Mr. Smith!" She cried. "And here I was, thinking you were a true patriot."

"I am as much for attacking Maldonia as anyone else," Smith said flatly, "But it might not hurt to let them have the jewels for a little while, just to appease them…we might be able to win them back later…"

"Absolutely not!" Queen Mousetoria laughed. "Not ever! Now that I know what is going on, I'm doubling, no, tripling the guard. As long as I sit on the throne," she said rather haughtily, "England stands strong."

Smith's face turned unreadable for a moment. But Basil saw his chance in the silence.

"Your Majesty," Basil told her, "I must inform you that the letter is indeed not of-"

"Quadruple the guards," Smith interrupted, addressing Queen Mousetoria. "You are right, my queen. A long as you sit alive and breathing on that throne, so will England. Stay. Alive and breathing. You know."

"Exactly right," Queen Mousetoria beamed.

"I mean, after all, you never know who you can trust. Take for example, this fellow." Smith sent a glare at Edmund, who returned it with ferocity. "He never told you about the threat. Covered it up. What else is he covering up, eh? He might be the spy."

Queen Mousetoria's eyes narrowed a bit, barely enough to be noticeable, but of course Basil noticed. "Nonsense," Queen Mousetoria finally said. "I would have known if he were a spy by now."

"Of course I'm not the spy," Edmund said. "He's the spy. He and whatever her name was…Heaven Bradburt or something…"

"Heather Bradbury," Relda supplied.

Queen Mousetoria laughed lightly. "What rubbish! Heather is too meek to dream of hurting a thing."

"But it's true!" Edmund pleaded.

Queen Mousetoria sighed. "I do believe I've heard enough, Mr. Edmund." She flapped her hand at him. "Kindly take your leave."

Edmund growled low in his throat. "I am not leaving," he said quietly, "Until that man is behind bars."

Queen Mousetoria blinked. "Hm. That is something I would more expect your brother to say than you." She smoothed her skirt. "But if you aren't going to be leaving of your own accord, the guards will gladly escort you out."

"Guards?" Smith asked before any of them could respond. The guards moved automatically from their stone-faced state and gently took Edmund's arms in their hands, guiding him in the door's direction. Edmund struggled, but they succeeded in dragging him down the hall and out of sight.

"Basil!" Edmund cried as he was dragged out. "Basil, warn her!"

Some more guards appeared. One of the guards took Basil's arm too, and gestured to Relda.

"Come along, then," the guards said.

Basil broke away. He turned to the Queen. "Your Majesty," he said, "Listen to what I say. I am never wrong when it comes to deductions, and I deduce from all evidence provided to me that that man is plotting against you!"

The Queen blinked slowly, taking it in. He was right, and he had aved her life before. She had to at least listen to him. But Smith laughed. "That's preposterous!" He cried. "That's bloody insane! Er, forgive my language, Your Majesty."

Basil didn't take his eyes off the Queen. One of the guards reached for his arm again, but Basil smacked it away. "The awkward sentences tell me that the letter isn't Maldonian, and in fact written by an Englishmouse, short in stature, rather broad, unmarried, right-handed. A perfect description of Lord Murphy, who gave us a full confession. If you aren't going to listen to my ruddy brother, then listen to me. Trust me, your Majesty. He is a traitor."

Slowly, the Queen turned towards Smith. She regarded him with narrowed eyes.

"Perhaps-" She murmured.

Suddenly, the Queen was jerked backwards into the bedroom. A young female mouse with light brown fur and a dark-colored plain dress held a knife to the queen's throat.

The guards stared briefly in shock. They remembered themselves and grabbed their weapons, pointing them at the girl and the Queen. In response, Gregory Smith grabbed a small pistol from his pocket and pointed it at the guards.

"Do not move!" The girl cried. "Or England's queen will fall!"

"Heather?" The queen cried in surprise.

Relda and Basil froze in shock.

* * *

><p>Edmund was shoved rather roughly out of the alace. He whirled around, indignant. "How dare you touch me in such a manner!" he yelled. "I am your superior! In every way!"<p>

"Not anymore," the guard smirked. "The queen'll sack you faster than you can blink." The door shut.

Edmund gaped in horror at the closed door. Oh, God, he was right. Damn it all. He knew it was a risk for a normal mouse to keep things from the queen, but he had thought he covered his tracks so well…he was protecting her, damn it…it just wasn't fair…

A thought struck him. Murphy! Perfect…he could intimidate the stupid little bugger into confessing for the queen, all would be well, he'd get his job back…excellent.

He dusted himself off, regaining his stony-faced composure. He had this covered now.

He strutted across the street, his confidence returning. He could get this taken care of in less than an hour, no problem…

He turned the corner into the alley, fully expecting to find Dawson watching Murphy and Ratigan, who were both conveniently tied up and unable to run away. What he was not expecting was to find both Dawson and Murphy tied up and gagged with what seemed like dainty handkerchiefs.

"What the-" Edmund gasped. He ran over to them and untied the gag from Dawson's mouth. "What happened?"

Dawson sighed. "He complained of chafing around his wrists. I checked…there was indeed raw skin around the bonds. So I loosened the bond a bit and…ell, no military training could have prepared me for such a huge man."

Edmund stared at him in shock. "You what?! How could you…why would…how could you be so naïve?" He grabbed at the roots of his hair. "We have lost the single biggest criminal in all of Britain, and you…"

He was interrupted by a scream from the palace. Edmund whipped his head in that direction. "What was that?" He jumped up from his kneeling position and began running to the palace.

"Mr. Edmund! Mr. Edmund!" Dawson cried, distressed. Edmund heaved a reluctant sigh and ran back, swiftly untying Dawson before getting up and running back to the palace. Dawson srambled up as fast as he could and followed. Murphy made a weak attempt to call them back through his gag before giving up. They'll remember him and come back eventually. Won't they?

* * *

><p>They stood staring at each other for a few long moments. The Queen stayed stone still as the girl pressed the knife to her throat.<p>

Basil's eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice was calm and cool, much steadier than Relda's panicky, unsteady heartbeat. "What are your demands?" He asked simply.

Gregory blinked. "Same things we asked for in the letter."

The queen shifted as far as she could in Heather's grip. Her eyes went to Gregory. "You wrote that letter?" She asked.

Heather smirked. "Your former head of security was right about the whole thing," she said. "At least I was able to hide and keep my eye on things."

Basil cleared his throat. "So…the crown jewels, eh?"

Gregory smiled. "That's it."

"What are you going to do with them, hm? Sell them in a poker game and split the profits with Murphy?"

Gregory snorted. "We were never going to go through with the deal. Murphy would lose everything. We would take the opportunity to get the jewels and skidaddle to India."

"The only trip you'll be taking when this thing is through is a trip to Australia. In a prison ship!" The Queen cried feistily before Heather pressed the knife closer to her throat. The guards who had gathered around began to advance but stopped as soon as Gregory raised the pistol. Relda and Basil put up their hands in surrender.

Relda blinked. "Wait a moment. Just curious here, but what exactly did the queen do to you to warrant…this?" She gestured to the queen and Heather.

"Oh, nothing really. My lady and I just wanted to get ourselves a nice wedding present."

"We're engaged," Heather explained cheerily.

"..And when Murphy approached me about help with the whole deal, I saw the perfect opportunity to sell the crown jewels and buy ourselves an island."

"Or a marble palace," Heather added. "We're not picky."

Basil's eyes flicked over the form of the queen and Heather, analyzing the situation. The woman's grip was relaxing, the hold on the quen loosening. If he could just…

Slowly, as slow as he could, Basil began slipping his foot out of his shoe. Luckily, he measured his movements just right so that neither Gregory nor Heather saw him. His eyes flickered around the woman, doing calculations to make sure he got his aim just right. Carefully, making sure that the shoe was loosely hanging off his foot, he aimed and swung his leg out at Heather. His shoe flew off his foot and at Heather, who it hit square in the face. She gave a startled shriek and let go of the knife as the queen hurled herself away from them. Gregory let out a yell and fired a shot in Basil's direction, but it was too late. Basil had lunged at him, grabbing the arm and lifting it up so that the shot missed the target and buried itself in the ceiling. Basil and Gregory wrestled with the gun for a moment before grabbing it out of Gregory's hand. Basil lifted up the gun, victorious, before Gregory tackled him. They fell to the ground, kicking and struggling. Basil was taller than Smith, but Smith had his stockiness on his side. Basil felt the air leaking out of his lungs as Smith squashed him, reaching desperately for the gun.

There was chaos. Some of the soldiers reached in to intervene, but the flying fists got in their way of helping until finally…

Clunk. Suddenly, Gregory went limp, collapsing entirely on top of Basil. Basil gasped for oxygen as the heavy man's muscles relaxed, his full weight being put on Basil. Two pair of strong hands lifted the man off of him, giving Basil room to breathe again. Edmund and Dawson dragged Smith to the side, off of Basil.

"Hit him with the butt of a rifle," Edmund explained. The guards descended on Gregory, picking him up and dragging him away. Relda was busy helping Queen Mousetoria off the ground. Mousetoria pointed at Heather, who was struggling to her feet.

"Take her away!" She cried, pointing to Heather. The guards that were left grabbed her arms and hoisted her up, taking her along with them.

Basil got to his feet, clutching the gun. Queen Mousetoria smiled at him. "Saved again. Is there anything you can't do?" She turned to Edmund, her smile fading but only slightly. "I believe I owe you an apology, Mr. Edmund. You will be allowed to return to your job, but I will be keeping a very close eye on you."

Basil grinned, his breath returning to him and his inner theme tune laying patriotically in his head. He had done well, hadn't he?

"STOP!" A guard's voice snapped him out of it. He looked over to where the woman was sprinting away from the guards, lifting her skirt up to avoid tripping over her skirt. For someone who had just been hit in the face with a shoe, with a bruised nose to prove it, she proved to be impressively fast.

She sprinted down another hall. Basil and Edmund raced after her and the guards chasing her, with Relda and Dawson in hot pursuit. They turned a corner, where she was disappearing into another room. They ran closer, before a loud scream and a thud startled them. Only ausing a moment, they raced into the room. On the floor lay Heather out cold.

Basil got to her first. He studied her face. In addition to the mark from his shoe, there was also a large bruise near the top of her head. The size, shape…Basil had only seen hands this big once…

The guards picked the lady up. Basil remained on the floor, the gears turning in his head.

Dawson gently touched his shoulder, causing Basil to jump. "Are you all right, Basil?" Dawson asked hesitantly.

Basil's emerald eyes seemed stormy. "Dawson, what happened to Ratigan?" Basil asked.

Dawson blinked. "W-what?"

"Ratigan, Dawson."

"Eh-heh," Dawson said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm afraid he…got away." Dawson flinched, awaiting the detective's tempestuous temper that surprisingly did not come.

"You don't say…" Basil said, seeming distant.

Dawson cleared his throat. "I'm uh, sorry, Basil. I never meant for…"

"Uh huh." Basil got up from the floor. Dawson patted him uncertainly on the back.

"Well then," Dawson said. "We did well, then?"

"Mm." Basil looked around the room. A draft was coming from the window on the opposite side of the room. Ah-ha. So that's where he had gone.

Basil was angry about Ratigan getting away again. He was deeply angry, downright furious. But for some reason, the fact that ratigan had…helped them made him wonder. It probably wasn't even intentional. If he knew Ratigan, Ratigan only helped anyone that was himself. But maybe he wasn't…

He was being ridiculous, he knew. But still…

"Well, that was certainly an adventure." Relda said from her spot in Basil's comfy red chair. Basil was standing by the fireplace, reading the article on the whole incident that had been published just yesterday. He smirked when there had been absolutely no mention of Edmund or the Maldonian threat letter anywhere, focused solely on the "deceptively kind Gregory Smith and his fiancée Heather" and "the devil-spawn himself, former Lord Murphy." All three of the mentioned were staying a while behind bars.

Dawson munched hungrily on his cheese crumpet. Oh, he had been so glad when they came home and found Mrs. Judson had baked an entire batch (she baked when she was nervous).

"Well," Dawson said, his mouth partially full, "So. Within three days we have...recovered a family from the clutches of an underground criminal society…" Dawson liked his fingers, "saved the Queen from the hands of traitors and prevented a war with another country." He brushed the crumbs off his mustache before grinning happily at Basil. "I do believe we have done well."

"I agree," Relda said. "I've never had so much excitement in such a short amount of time. Were it not for the repeated attempts on our lives, I daresay it was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life."

Basil grinned at her, but the smile was fleeting. He frowned slightly. "But Ratigan got away…" he murmured quietly.

Dawson glanced at the ground guiltily.

Relda sighed, biting her lip. She tried to find a good side to that part. "Well, more cases should be opening up soon," Relda said hesitantly. "It certainly won't be boring for you anymore, at least while I'm not here to entertain you." She chuckled softly at her own weak attempt at humor.

Basil frowned. "I suppose…" he said, shrugging. It hadn't been the same in case-work after Ratigan disappeared, it was true, but…was it worth it to have such a dangerous criminal on the loose? Suddenly, a completely off-topic thought came to him. He turned around. "Wait. When you're not around? Where are you going?"

Relda's mouth twisted into a pained smile. "I…I really wish I could stay and solve mysteries like this all the time, but…" Relda looked at the ground. "I have another career, Basil. My singing…I have a tour in New York just five days from now."

Basil swallowed. God, he hated emotions. They clogged up his perfectly good brain, like grit in the gears of a clock. He didn't even quite understand why he was feeling so disappointed and…sad…about her going. He cleared his throat in an attempt to cover up the strange silence he had given. "I uh…I see."

Relda sighed. "I'm sorry, I wish I could stay…"

"No, no. It's uh...Mrs. Judson?" Basil asked. He cupped a hand to his ear.

"What?" Mrs. Judson's voice came from another room, confused.

"She needs help with something," Basil explained to Relda and Dawson. "I'll be right there, Mrs. Judson!"

"What?" She called again.

"I'll take care of this. Ill uh, I'll just be leaving then…" Basil shuffled awkwardly out of the room. He paused for a moment before saying, "Until we meet again, I suppose. I'm…" Basil opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but he decided against it. He left the room awkwardly.

Relda heaved a sigh and looked to the kind face of Doctor Dawson. He smiled wanly at the woman.

"I think it best that you leave now, dear," he said. "He's uh, well." Dawson glanced at the ground. "It's been a pleasure, Ms. Cheddarton."

"Likewise, Doctor Dawson." Relda gave him a smile before walking over and pulling on her coat. She picked up her bag, swallowing and staring at the ground, her hand hovering inches away from the doorhandle. After a moment, she seemed to get an idea. She reached into her jacket pocket and fished out an old program from one of her concerts. She turned it over.

"Doctor, may I have a pen, please?"

Basil wasn't sure what was happening to him. Damn it all, he couldn't think straight, not with all these stray strange thoughts swimming through his head. Ratigan out and about…Edmund…Dawson…Relda…everything was mixing together in his head and he couldn't think, damn it. He'd been staring at the same slide of infected mosquito saliva imported from the jungles in Africa for what was it, twenty minutes now? Not making any observations, just staring through the eyepiece of his microscope, looking but not seeing anything.

The door to his room opened, and Basil whirled around. Dawson stood in the chair. Dawson cleared his throat.

Basil turned back to his microscope. He fiddled with the adjustment knobs on its side. "She's, uh…she's gone, isn't she?"

Dawson inhaled deeply and nodded. "Im afraid she is, old chap."

"It's fine," Basil said in a way that made Dawson feel that it most certainly was not fine. "She has her career, I have mine, after all."

Dawson pursed his lips before crossing the room to where Basil sat. "I ah, I have something for you, Basil," Dawson said before placing the program on the desk beside Basil. When Basil did not acknowledge his presence any further, Dr. Dawson graciously took his leave.

As the door shut behind Dawson, Basil looked over. A printed picture of Relda singing was on the front, with letters that said, MME. RELDA PERFORMS TONIGHT.

Somehow, that just made Basil feel worse. He turned the program over so that he wouldn't have to look at it anymore. Then he noticed the writing on the back. He examined it closer.

The writing said,

_Relda Cheddarton_

_ 127 ½ 5th Avenue_

_ New York, New York U.S.A_

_(I'll send you my next address when you write)_

A slow smile crept across Basil's face.

* * *

><p>Authour's note, again:<p>

Oh, Good Lord, i hope that was okay.

I sincerely hope that my characters were not out of character or anything like that. With Ratigan stopping the girl from getting away, I feel like that may have been either an accident or his way of showing Basil that he really does care, depending on your interpretation of it. For me, I feel a mixture of both.

Please let me know what you thought of it and leave a review. It is so, so helpful!

And...Ithink I'm going to take a break from writing these long chapter stories for a while. Frankly, they can be exhausting to write with all the other stuff going on in my life, and I have other stories I'd like to write right now. I'm not saying another story won't ever be written, I just would like to focus on other stories right now.

So, in other words, that's all, folks! (For a while, at least...) And thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, followed, heck, just read my story. Your support makes me so happy. You guys are all AWESOME!

Auf Wiedersehen!

Narwhals Forever


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